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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24352465">A god-sent hawk to watch over him</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Angstosaur/pseuds/Angstosaur'>Angstosaur</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>After the duel [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Lord John Series - Diana Gabaldon, Outlander &amp; Related Fandoms, Outlander Series - Diana Gabaldon</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Gen, Hurt/Comfort, The Scottish Prisoner, Unrequited Love</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 08:54:57</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,459</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24352465</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Angstosaur/pseuds/Angstosaur</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>This is my first venture into writing for this fandom, although I have written a lot elsewhere for LFN and Torchwood.<br/>The character of Lord John Grey entices me - and his unrequited love for a certain highlander.<br/>At the end of Chapter 32 of the Scottish Prisoner, after John is seriously wounded, we are told that Jamie runs across the grass to John. At the start of Chapter 33, John is recovering in bed - several days later.<br/>This ficlet attempts to fill that gap, described briefly later as Jamie recalls carrying John's bleeding body to the carriage.<br/>I have tried to explore the feelings and thoughts of those concerned - all of whom care deeply about John.</p><p> </p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>After the duel [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1784176</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>76</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>A god-sent hawk to watch over him</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>
  <em>“God send each nobleman at his end, such hawks, such hounds and such a friend.”</em>
</p><p>Jamie skidded across the trampled grass, the soles of his boots slipping on the blood-soaked sward. He could hear the authoritative voice of Harry Quarry yelling at Tom Byrd to fall back – only seconds were allowed to approach. Although that had not occurred to Jamie, he had just automatically ran to the side of the crumpled body of Lord John Grey.</p><p>Crashing down on his knees he suddenly did not know where to look first – and as he paused for the most minute fraction of a second, he saw a different future. If he did nothing, the man before him would probably bleed out and die, or maybe pass away from gangrene in the days to come. Jamie would no longer be bound to the Greys, he would be free. Not only free from obligations to the damn family that held him captive in a prison without bars, but free of feelings he had no idea what to do with. Feelings that managed to simultaneously repulse him and comfort him. One moment’s hesitation would be all that it took, and he could be free. He bit his lip and swore to himself.</p><p>The words of the blessing of Michael he had bestowed upon John Grey echoed in his mind – surely it had been the grace of the archangel that had given John’s arm the strength to lift that heavy sabre and pierce their common enemy. He had seen how far in the blade had gone – all the way through the man’s guts to his spine – he had no idea how else the Englishman had managed to surge up and deal such a powerful strike. If he had not rallied at that point, Twelvetrees would have dealt the fatal blow. Far be it for Jamie to question the divine providence that had spared his lordship. It was time now for him to do his part.</p><p>Apart from anything else,  Jamie still owed John Grey a debt of honour - this man who had stepped up to the challenge to spare his own life- he‘d be damned if he let him die on this battlefield from which his own participation had been denied. The Duchess had made it quite clear to him that her brother-in-law’s actions had far less to do with the slanderous accusations of sodomy than with the desperate need to save Jamie from being hanged for killing an Englishman in a duel whilst still a prisoner of the realm.</p><p>“No – please no, please don’t let me Lord be dead,” whimpered Tom Byrd, having edged as close as he dared, his mournful gaze betraying his feelings as well.</p><p>“No – not while the blood still flows strongly, but he will be dead if we canna stop it leavin’ his body. Tom? Throw me his waistcoat will ye?”</p><p>Dutifully, Tom did as he was bid.</p><p>“Now, quickly -  I need ye tae have the coachman ready to make haste.  I’ll fetch his Lordship to ye presently.”</p><p>Jamie did not look up from assessing the wounds. He had learnt this from Claire and the thought of her made him wish she were here, dealing calmly and efficiently with the injuries incurred. She had always impressed upon him the importance of not moving an injured man until the worst injuries were stabilised – that such haste could only worsen the situation and decrease the chances of survival. He scowled as he looked up briefly to see Doctor Hunter ordering Twelvetrees’ supporters to carry him away to his carriage with unseemly speed – and John’s fears of the ‘body-snatcher’ revisited him as he saw the doctor glance at John briefly as if considering taking him as well.</p><p>“Colonel Quarry – would ye look after Lord John’s sword?” Jamie looked to where the sword had fallen from John’s hand as he had collapsed. The blade was covered from tip to hilt in blood.</p><p>“Of course.”</p><p>“Aye – he wouldna want that left behind.” In other circumstances, Jamie might have admired the weapon, but seeing the damage its sparring partner had made of the body on the ground, he was less interested than he might have once been.  </p><p>Jamie was pleased to note that Harry Quarry wiped the curved blade clean before carefully sheathing the sabre back in its scabbard.</p><p>“Shall I…?” ventured Harry, wanting to intervene, but wary of the look on the Scotsman’s face – angry and fearful.</p><p>“Nae – I’ll make sure he’s safe tae move then I’ll bring him to ye.”</p><p>Quarry was intrigued at the way Fraser was tenderly attending to his friend. He was astounded at the transformation from the prisoner at Ardmuir who he had warned John about all those years ago. Then, he had believed him capable of killing John without a second thought, but at that moment he could see Fraser would kill for him.</p><p>Jamie was vaguely aware of Quarry muttering under his breath before walking briskly away, but his attention was focused elsewhere. The gash on John’s temple from the pommel of Twelvetrees’ sabre was bleeding freely – but he dismissed that, scalp wounds always bled badly. Claire had explained that to him once, whilst trying to describe internal head injuries that did not bleed openly but caused worse damage. Even though there were trickles of blood all down one side of John’s face, Jamie knew it was not the most serious injury. Nor was the slice across his thigh, although it was long and deep – that would need cleaning he knew. But the rapidly spreading stain of blood on John’s shirt, that worried Jamie. He turned the waistcoat inside out, the more absorbent fabric on the outside and pressed it against the wound on John’s chest, as he did so he could feel the heart beat beneath – still strong, but fast – too fast, as it desperately tried to pump an ever-decreasing volume of blood around the man’s veins.</p><p>Gathering up his friend – yes, damn it, he had no choice but to admit to that at the very least – in his strong arms, cradling him close to his own chest and to hell with the blood stains on his borrowed blue livery, Jamie ran as fast as was safe along the glistening flagstones, towards the waiting carriage. The only time he had to slow down was to duck through the doorway in the cast iron gate.</p><p>As he neared the carriages he saw Tom Byrd standing alert waiting for them. He was pleased to see that the carriage had been turned about and the coachman was ready to convey them back to Argus House. For all of his musings on what it could mean to him if this man were to die now, he also knew that he needed him in his life and would not forgive himself if he failed him.</p><p>“Colonel Quarry has gone ahead, Mr Fraser,” explained Tom as he anxiously looked at the limp form of his master. “ He’s gone to give notice to the Duke so they can prepare ‘is room and summon the family doctor.”</p><p>“Good, here, help me get his lordship settled on the bench.”</p><p>As soon as he had settled the wounded man along the bench in the carriage, Jamie yelled to the driver to make haste for Argus House. He then turned his attentions back to his injured friend.</p><p>He took the coat that Tom Byrd was still clasping tight and tucked it around John’s head, cushioning it against the door as they were all jostled as the carriage swerved around delivery carts, that were coming out onto the early morning streets. Jamie crouched down between the benches to prevent John from rolling off. He turned to Tom Byrd who was perching on the opposite bench, biting his lower lip anxiously. </p><p>“Do ye have that flask o’ brandy on ye?”</p><p>“What – you want a drink? His lordship maybe?” Tom was confused.</p><p>“Nae, laddie, it’s tae pour on the wounds – stops them getting infected.”</p><p>“But-“</p><p>“Dinnae ask – it just works, trust me. “</p><p>Jamie thought back once more to all the things he had seen Claire do to treat his own wounds and those of others – words and phrases he had not understand at the time, but he had seen the results. Men survived who would have previously died, thrashing and writhing in the agonies of fevers from gangrenous wounds days after they had first been wounded.</p><p>Slipping the coat from his shoulders, Jamie tore it into pieces to the horror of Tom Byrd.</p><p>“Fer heaven’s sake, man, would ye rather that coat made it back in one piece or his Lordship?”</p><p>“I’d rather it was both. But of course not!” protested Tom, as he snatched hold of the torn panel thrust into his hands.</p><p>“It was already coming apart at the seams.” Jamie shrugged, it was true, although the coat had belonged to Hal Grey, his shoulders were not as broad as Jamie’s. “Use that tae wipe as much blood away as ye can, then pour some brandy in the cut on his leg, and some on his head, then pass me that stock soaked in all ye have left.”</p><p>As Tom carried out his instructions, Jamie frowned – he knew full well how much liquor stung when poured into open wounds and the fact that John didn’t so much as twitch did not bode well. Losing consciousness was to be expected – but the lack of any response from the limp body was starting to scare him.</p><p>Growling in despair, Jamie took hold of the hem of the blood-stained shirt and tore it in half to expose John’s chest. He scowled as he took in the multiple scars adorning the man’s chest. There was a mess of raised ridges, angry looking puckered skin with the tell-tale parallel circles from stitches. John Grey had always seemed so pristine, so buttoned up and spotless, it had never occurred to Jamie that he, too, may carry scars upon his body.</p><p>“Tom, lad – where did he get these from, d’ye ken?”</p><p>“A cannon – blew up on the battlefield at Crefeld,” Tom stated proudly. “Bits of metal stuck in ‘is chest – nearly killed ‘im, only the Duke forced the physicians to work on ‘im even though they were ready to call time. They dug out what they could – but there’s still some bits in there – cause him pain something awful in the winter.”</p><p>It had never occurred to Jamie that John had fought other campaigns, beyond those in the Highlands. But of course, he had been an army officer, so he must have seen plenty of active duty. Jamie should have known – even though there were so many differences between them, they had both fought and suffered losses. As he pressed the cloth to the newest chest wound, Jamie recalled the conversation back in the officer’s quarters at Ardmuir, when John had confided in him about the man he once loved who had fallen at Culloden. There had been no blame or accusation – nor hatred for his own role in that battle, not from John, but just the sadness of heartbreak that his lover had died in his arms and then he had been dragged away from the body by his own brother, ashamed of him and angry at how close he had allowed himself being exposed for what he was – an embarrassment to the family.</p><p>Tom took the cloth that Jamie had handed back to him and tipped up the flask again to add more brandy before returning it. He watched on as Fraser cleared away the blood so that he could see how deep the wound was.</p><p>When he dabbed away the blood pooling in the deep cut, Jamie could glimpse the whiteness of bone and the glint of a shard of metal. The tip of Twelvetrees sword embedded in the breastbone, just above the still beating heart of John Grey. A fraction of an inch to the side and John would have been dead before he hit the ground.</p><p>“My poor John," whispered Jamie, carefully stroking a blood-soaked tendril of hair from John's face. "It seems your heart is ever a target for pain.”</p><p>Tom gave him a puzzled look, taking in the loving gaze bestowed upon his master. He had seen how Lord John looked at the Scotsman – in unguarded moments, he had spied that look of unconditional love that tore his master apart inside. He knew of his inclinations and had done his part to protect him – following orders from the Duke to clean his brother up and make him presentable when he had returned from late night trysts. He knew that his master sought physical satisfaction from the partners he found in the private rooms of clubs like the Lavender House, but he also recognised love when he saw it. Lord John Grey’s heart belonged to this Scotsman, who did not want it – who rejected it with disgust. Or so he thought. In that brief instance as the carriage thundered along the uneven tracks towards Argus House, he saw a glimpse of something the large man across from him kept locked away – he may not feel desire for his lordship, but he did care for him – a very great deal.</p><p>“Why won’t ‘e wake up?”</p><p>“A bash to the head can knock a man out for hours, and he’s lost a fair bit o’ blood – he’s no dead yet, wee Tom. As long as his heart beats and his lungs draw breath, he’s no' going anywhere.”</p><p>As the carriage drew to a halt outside the entrance to Argus House, Harry Quarry opened the door and took John’s feet whilst Jamie lifted him up from under his arms. Tom Byrd followed them, wondering if his master had any idea how much he was truly loved.</p><p>~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~</p><p>His eyes flickered open briefly as he felt himself being carried up the stairs in his brother’s home – the smells of brandy and fresh cut flowers, along with the smoke from newly set fires making him aware of his location.</p><p>A grunt from the man holding his legs could only have come from his friend, Harry and beyond him, scurrying up the stairs, carrying the cases of the family physician, came Tom Byrd, ever loyal. Strong hands were braced under arms and, forcing his gaze upwards, he caught the fierce glare of sharp blue eyes in a halo of unruly red curls. He imagined that he saw the lips move to form his name.</p><p>As he tried, desperately,  to cling onto consciousness, the sounds of voices became more muffled and the darkness crept once more into his field of vision.</p><p>His last conscious thought was that he would be safe. His hawk was still watching over him.</p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Please let me know what you think. Should I write more? </p><p>About to enter the 10th week of lock down here in England, with my partner who is shielded - she's one of the extremely vulnerable on the govt list, so at least we can get priority deliveries of groceries! Hooray. And now I have a week off from teaching science lessons to my students online I can indulge in some writing at last.</p><p>Have also bought 'A place to call home' to binge watch for the wonderful David Berry. I think I may have an addiction problem...</p></blockquote></div></div>
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